


under the gay bodhi tree

by gooberjam



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, and because it's john and dave they're gonna be morons abt it, i guess?? man i just mean i ain't boutta dive into the good stuff, implied davejade, implied davekat - Freeform, its friends to more than friends basically, john and dave become a thing and love each other lots i promise, shit dude, they're both just stupid so it takes a fucking while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-02-10 18:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18666352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooberjam/pseuds/gooberjam
Summary: You snort and take another sip of beer. Faintly, you recall the brand being something called ‘Bupp Lite Citrus’. It sure has the whispers of a taste associated with a more well known beverage. That’s Bupp for ya, you think to yourself. You and Dave had tried to guess what fruit was the source of the vague citrus descriptor, the result of which was him saying It’s not FUCKING grapefruit, who even gives a shit, Bupps up, and nearly choking himself out on a hearty swig down the wrong pipe. In living with the dude, you’ve noticed choking himself out on his own bullshit is a pretty frequent occurrence.***fun lil thing i co-wrote with tumblr user romuell.... i just love these morons man





	1. the one where john has an epiphany

_Mr Boombastic!_

“Ah,” Dave raises his shitty red plastic cup as an offering with a sage nod, lips pressed together in tight resignation.

_What you want is some boombastic, romantic, fantastic lovin’._

 “And with that, the night has gone from a dismal display of the American dream, to just straight up depressing.” 

“It’s not that bad, dude.”

_Mr lover, lover. Mmm..._  

“I take it back.”

_They call me Mr Boombastic—_

Your name is John Egbert, you are 20 years old, and you are currently at some college party you thought would be a good idea to go to.

After 3 years of higher education, you had finally been invited to the Real Deal; an Animal House, an American Pie 2– all those movies with fun and incredible, crazy wacky and wild scenes depicting the penultimate American young adult experience.

You could not contain your excitement from the moment you were invited.

Would you go? Of course you would, and you’d invite your friends along, too! This was going to be an experience that could only bring you closer; you would form a memory to fondly look back upon when you were all older, more mature. Oh how silly we were in our days of youth, what shenanigans we would get up to!

What a load of baloney.

“At least Rose seems to be enjoying herself.”

And indeed she does; across the room of whatever frat house this is, you could see her through a small group of people around a table, doing what appeared to be body shots off of some pretty girl you think is in a couple of your classes. What was her name? Kayla? Cassidy? Something like that, you’re sure. The crowd cheers as she throws back a hands-free shot, her lipstick smeared and expression somehow simultaneously glassy and smug.

Dave, sat next to you on the couch, grimaces to himself before mumbling down at the remnants in his cup.

“You think everyone here has just collectively experienced some form of stockholm syndrome? We all know this function blows but we stay anyway because it’s our duty as young adults recently freed from the constraints of guardian bullfuckery to get shitfaced and hey, fuck it we’re all gonna be in mad debt after this anyway so let’s make it a good time while we still have the capacity to slam some green juice and painkillers in the morning before Learning Shit 101 with the prof we all know is equally hungover and call it good.”

You glance down at your solo cup.

“... Probably.”

The alcohol definitely hasn’t been good, but the watered down beer seems to be the least offensive. You never thought this stuff would taste this bad, and you’re kind of disappointed in yourself for finally breaking the law to take part in something so shitty. You can’t even tell if you’re drunk, but you are pretty sure the fact that you are even wondering this is a clear indication that you aren’t.

Jade left a little over an hour ago. Despite being of age like the rest of your friends, she’s never been too into drinking, and decided the party wasn’t worth the time she could be using to catch up on some tv shows. You were upset when she left, but now you are starting to wish you had bailed with her.

“I think I’m kind of exhausted by the excuse of alcohol’s bare minimum being ‘it gets you drunk,’ you know, like I’m putting this garbage in my fuckin’ body, it should at least have the decency to taste good. Like we all know if you’re getting drunk more likely than not it’s coming up again at some point, so shouldn’t it be fuckin’ pleasant going down at least? If you slurp piss you’re gonna yarl piss squared. If I gotta sacrifice my dignity to hail the porcelain throne, I better be tossing cookies and not some trash kombucha that’s congealed along the crack of some hobos soiled tighty yellows. I wanna be like a king, just destroying my chamber pot with upchuck because I’m so filthy rich it don’t even matter. All fuckin pompous and shit about it. Oh this? Yeah, this was an 1542 whiskey, fine aged in a barrel made from gonzo wood which is a tree that’s fuckin’ extinct now. I made it extinct by makin’ this mess. I just spit that shit out into a goddamn toilet, because I’m fuckin’ classy. I’m all up and made out of class, I may as well be the goddamn teacher, I’m drowning in all this class. Call me mister fuckin’, uh, mister—“

“Boombastic?”

“Yeah. That.”

You look over at your best friend, who raises his cup once again, this time in a toast of acknowledgement at Rose as she looks your way, doing her weird kind of unnerving smile thing that just screams that she knows something and is smarter than you because of it. You stick your tongue out at her, and she rolls her eyes before the girl from the table taps her on the shoulder, and she’s swallowed back up by the sea of people as she looks away from you and Dave.

“Hey Dave,”

He turns his head toward you, and you can kind of see him watching you from behind his shades out the corner of his eye.

“Do you wanna maybe go somewhere that isn’t this couch?”

He heaves a sigh, sinking back into the couch with his head drooped back so he can stare wistfully at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, John. I’ve grown pretty attached to this couch, what with all its mystery stains and foot smell. I think we got ourselves a good thing goin’; observe how the river of people seems to split precisely at this spot. From this vantage point, we can really survey the scene and how much it’s popped off without us.”

“Upstairs?”

“Let’s see who can find more crusty socks. Winner gets chlamydia.”

 

***

 

“How’d you even get invited to this thing anyways? And why have I not once been invited to a cliche college party before now?”

“Technically you weren’t even invited to this one. You, Jade, and Rose are all trespassers.”

“Maybe this was our mistake. If we had practiced gate crashing prior to this, we could’ve all been party sluts by now.”

“Yes, that is our problem. We did not have enough time to study how to properly get down.”

You’re staring dead at him, and he just stares back, vacant shades and all, before he returns to rummaging through someone else’s stuff.

“Surprised with how polite everyone else up in this joint seems to be. I think we’re the only people so far to have violated the ‘no one upstairs’ rule; this shits way too organized.”

“Aside from the bathroom ghouls.”

“Yeah, obviously aside from the bathroom ghouls that you totally saw, no one else has been up here.”

“I didn’t see anything, I heard them. There was some very distinctive, ghoulish skittering around the bathroom area.”

“Oh. Yeah nah, that’s probably either some dude snussing talcum powder, or someone’s gettin it. Maybe from a ghoul. Who’s to say, really.”

“Like a Ghostbusters.” You add, thoughtfully.

“Yeah basically almost exactly like a Ghostbusters.”

He tosses aside a folder and starts flipping through a composition notebook before you whap at him hard.

His notebook-free hand goes up. “Hey, woah, before you get all squeaky clean nice guy on me,” He holds open a page, displaying a fun collage of penises, all hand drawn and in varying states of detail. His lips tugs up at the corner.  “Looks like we found ourselves the next Picasso.”

“Put it back, dude. It isn’t cool to go through other people’s stuff.” Despite your words, you’re starting to grin too.

“It’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like we know the guy or anything. Besides, you really think privacy still exists now that the internet’s a thing?” Regardless, he tosses it onto a bed as though he’s already grown disinterested. “Alexa all up in people’s houses, Edgar J. Hoover-ing the wholesome American family within sight under the guise of being able to bump Baby Shark AND have access to a comprehensive list of everything your kids have been beating off to.”

You wrinkle your face up like a prune and Dave just shrugs.

“There is no privacy in late stage capitalism, bro. Bezos probably already got an earful of this fool’s deal so we might as well join in, but like, in a noble way because we’re poor.”

“Uh, no? This is not some sad version of a Robin Hood, dude.” You take the notebook from where it’s splayed open on the bed, closing it before setting it back on the desk with a reverence you hope will serve as an adequate apology for your idiot friend’s snooping. “Some one posting something online is totally different from just going through their stuff.”

Dave gives a non-committal so-so tilt of his hand, leaning back against the desk and picking up his drink to take a quick swig.

You’ve been silently tracking the cup’s progress across the room as he makes discoveries. The longest you’ve counted time spent actually being in his hand is five full mississippi seconds. It’s like watching a demented game of real-life Sorry with one piece and a chronically inattentive player.

“Some one?”

You blink, attention diverted from the solo cups journey from the desk to Dave’s mouth.

“What?”

“You gotta stop doing that thing where you needlessly separate words when you talk sometimes, dog.”

 He does this when he recognizes that you are totally right, and he was maybe a bit of a dick. Redirecting stuff because he’s still working on the whole ‘being ok with not always being right’ thing. Side effects of growing up with his brother, you suppose. Your lack of a response due to your mindful commentary prompts him to continue.

“‘Some one?’ ‘Some thing?’ It’s like a middle school dance for closed compound words. Hey now Sandy, remember to leave room for Jesus.”

You snort and take another sip of beer. Faintly, you recall the brand being something called ‘Bupp Lite Citrus’. It sure has the whispers of a taste associated with a more well known beverage. That’s Bupp for ya, you think to yourself. You and Dave had tried to guess what fruit was the source of the vague citrus descriptor, the result of which was him saying It’s not FUCKING grapefruit, who even gives a shit, Bupps up, and nearly choking himself out on a hearty swig down the wrong pipe. In living with the dude, you’ve noticed choking himself out on his own bullshit is a pretty frequent occurrence. 

You remember freshman year, and finding out that you didn’t land Dave as your roommate. It was soul crushing, having to surrender your best friend to some stranger like that, but it ended up less painful than anticipated. Dave’s roommate turned out to be a really fun guy to hang around, and even more fun to mess with. He’d lose his shit over basically anything, so you always knew you’d get a good reaction out of him. Looking back you almost feel bad, like you should have warned him to cool off before you and Dave and all your other friends went full shenanigans on his ass. You had a lot of fun hanging out together during what should have been study group, scheming up new ways to get the guy to blow a gasket. Dave had the tendency to overthink the plotting process, but your classic tastes and simple execution balanced him out. It made you an unstoppable pranking team.

It took until this semester to finally get that room with Dave. You’d managed to find an apartment sketchy enough to fit into your pathetic price range, but was somehow still habitable. Sure it didn’t pass most fire and safety laws, and those that it did was by the skin of its teeth, but boy was it yours.

The first week after moving in together, it was almost like you two were archeologists wandering the remnants of a long lost ancient civilization; you’d find things in the vents from what you sincerely hope was the previous tenant and not some malevolent apartment spirit trying to suffocate you with cursed artifacts. A Cheetah Girls DVD, one of those wooden drinking bird things, and a pack of Dora the Explorer stickers were all carefully excavated from the various nooks and crannies of your new home.

The first night, you broke in the Cheetah Girls disc, which worked in a hauntingly perfect manner given all the dust it had accumulated. Sat on the questionable carpeting, surrounded by boxes, you shared the shitty grocery store cake you’d bought in celebration of your friendship milestone as Raven-Symone sang on screen, blissfully ignorant to a future of internalized racism and fucked up shit in general.

It was strange and familiar. You knew you’d drive each other up the wall, but in a weird sort of way, that’s what you were looking forward to the most. Dave would somehow manage to hog every one of the chest-height outlets in the house with seventeen dollar chargers you couldn’t even use on your practical android, and leave his frankly stupid amount of dishes out, and you would retaliate with some good old-fashioned passive-aggressive hand washing of aforementioned dishes, and you even made a charger rat-king one time, which you nestled in his pillow for him to find and lose his mind over later that night. The opportunities for fucking with each other and still maintain a comfortable level of casual intimacy were endless.

The two of you had your spats, but you also had your movie nights and conceived the Super Feast tradition of hitting up multiple fast food drive-throughs and takeout spots to cultivate a hodgepodge meal of all the best food items from each. Sometimes you would stay up all night just talking. 

Everything had been going really well before Dave just stopped being around most days. 

“Hey, get a load of that Lethal Weapon poster.”

“Oh yeah, that thing’s straight up abysmal. Who has Mel Gibson’s big racist face in their bedroom anymore?” 

“I think Danny Glover is still ok.”

“Yeah.”

Dave grabs a sharpie from the pen holder on the desk, popping the cap open with his thumb.

“Shall we pay tribute to Picockso, in penance for looking upon his forbidden fruits?” 

You grin.

“Mayhaps we shall,” You pause as you try to piece together something good before finally landing on, “Leonardo Dong Pissy.” 

“Much obliged, Michael-schlong-hangs-a-low.” His reply is instantaneous as he tosses a green sharpie to you, which almost causes you to spill your drink in your haste to snatch the marker from the air.

“That was a stretch.” You reply, half out of jealousy for how easily stuff like that seems to come to the dude, regardless of how kind of useless the skill is. Setting the drink aside to uncap your own lethal weapon (heh heh), you assess your canvas in a very serious and contemplative manner.

“Yeah,” He draws a dick with a flourish from Gibson’s pants to his lips with the confidence of an artist. “Like ‘Leonardo Dong Pissy’ was right on the mark.”

 

***

 

You don’t know why you’ve been so thoughtful lately, but it is really starting to become a bit of a problem. It gets in the way of you just being around people normally, and it’s bumming you out how much it can infringe on your friend time, like you are forgetting how to be around them.

Maybe it is a result of being on your own more frequently. Maybe it is just a part of that thing called ‘growing up.’ Either way, it sucks donkey balls and you wish it would fucking quit it.

“I feel kind of sick.”

Your best friend, laying spread eagle on the floor next to you, is staring at the ceiling with his usual expression, seasoned with the smallest frown at his lips.

“You gonna throw up?”

“Nah,”

He’s kind of handsome in this light, you think. In the darkness, moonlight highlights all the parts of him that don’t look sort of weird. His expression doesn’t seem so mask-like. His face is almost soft like this. Pensive, even.

“I think I hate parties.”

“Yeah... I think I might maybe hate them, also.”

He finally turns his head to you, shades lifting ever so slightly as the rim presses against the floor. His mouth opens, then closes as he reconsiders. You furrow your eyebrows a bit in response, but he just shakes his head the way he does. Barely at all. You’re not even surprised, honestly. 

“Why don’t we hang out anymore?”

The words slip out before you can get a good hold on them, and immediately it’s like a block of ice is dropped in your stomach.

You’d wanted to let this go on a little longer, it’s been a really long time since you last had the chance to just be around the guy and have fun with him like this. And it’s been fun, so much fun, almost painfully fun considering you’ve just kept thinking in the back of your mind how he’s still probably not going to be around after tonight, just like how he hasn’t been around for months now.

And now he won’t even look at you. He’s turned back to the stupid ceiling again, and you almost want to yell at him for it. Months of you being scared about losing your best friend are welling up in really uncomfortable and freaky ways and he’s not even looking at you.

“I thought we were best friends. Like the kind of best friend that isn’t just someone saying ‘oh, you are my best friend’-- like the good kind that meant something and was real. The kind that couldn’t just drift apart. Is that... I mean, is that what is happening? Are we drifting apart?” Your voice drops to a murmur, “Do you want to drift apart?”

“Why would I want to drift apart?” His voice is quiet to match yours, low and controlled and he’s still not looking at you.

“I don’t know, maybe because it’s been starting to feel like you’ve been avoiding me! I barely see you around the apartment, and whenever I do you say like two stupid things and then just disappear into your bedroom and that’s it! I try to be like hey, maybe we should hang out tonight and watch a movie or play one of your stupid broken games, or go get something to eat, and you always have some other shit going on like I don’t have stuff going on either--”

“You kind of don’t.”

“Fuck you!” You grab the nearest thing to you on the floor and chuck it at his face, and he smacks it away just in time. You think it was a shoe. “You don’t know what I’m doing! You don’t fucking ask me what I’m doing-- you don’t ask me _anything_!”

“What are we, an old married couple?” _Now_ he’s looking at you. “Dude, it’s not my fucking job to play house with you all the goddamn time. I’m sorry if you’ve been feelin’ neglected or whatever the fuck this is, but I can’t be there to hold your hand every second of every day. I mean come on man, we’re in college now. I’m trying to do what I’m supposed to do here, y’know; experience different things and people, or whatever. I barely see you leave the fucking apartment. I’m sorry I’m trying to move on, but I’m not about to hang back with you when I’m finally start to feel like I’m my own fucking person.”

This time, yours is the mouth that opens and closes. You’ve got so much other shit you want to say, but it’s like Dave just stuffed his own words down your throat. Maybe because in a way you already knew all of this, and maybe Dave wasn’t the only person you were mad at.

“I miss hanging out with you too, man. I’m not saying I don’t.”

The block of ice is starting to feel more like it’s made out of mud.

You turn your head away to the underside of whoever’s bed this is. There’s a lot of shit crammed under there. It’s kind of gross.

“It’s really hard for me to be around you, I guess I should be real about that. It’s felt fuckin’ awkward and loaded. For a number of reasons, I guess.”

He clears his throat, and you let out a little breath before turning back to him. His eyebrows are all bunched up like he’s struggling with something, battling his own tongue trying to get the right words out. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so careful when it comes to talking and the mud in your belly wells up into your chest and throat.

In this light, his hair almost looks like downy feathers. If things weren’t so fucking weird, this would be a perfect moment to remind him that he looks like a stupid bird. You wish you could call him a stupid looking bird right now.

“I uh... I’ve been hanging out a lot with this dude from one of my, uh, classes. He’s kind of a pain in the ass-- like super loud and obnoxious, but... I don’t know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

He lets out a breath that’s almost shaky, and you force yourself not to focus on the budding sensation of a knife being pushed steadily through your windpipe.

“Really, we just started hanging out because it was fucking funny watching him throw tantrums. But then I guess somewhere we accidentally started to like each others company. He’s a really good guy. Probably one of the most genuinely good people I’ve ever met.”

He’s looking away again, and he seems to chew his words before continuing.

“But uh... I... Well, you know all that bullshit about how you’re meant to sort of discover yourself or whatever the fuck in college? Like, this is supposed to be some penultimate piece of shit time in your life where suddenly you’re a person and you’re given a name and it’s the first time you’ve ever existed because before now nothing else mattered?”

“I... guess?”

“Well whatever just go with it man, I’m trying to work somethin’ out here. I’m saying that like... I think I’m kind of falling under that cliche a bit. Which sucks, I’m not going to pretend like that isn’t some bullshit, but it’s also not totally a bad thing I feel like I’m not... trying so hard. Like I’m not over complicating how I am so much anymore. And it feels good, man.”

“... What does this have to do with the guy from your class?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, I guess I sort of lost the plot there.”

Your silence isn’t enough to prompt him forward, so instead you bap his arm with the back of your hand. He turns to you, sheepish sort of look on his face, rubbing his arm.

“It’s not that big of a deal or anything, but maybe we’ve gone on dates and stuff, I don’t know.”

Huh.

“So... So, are you...?”

Huh.

“... You’re like... I mean, are you... did... did you...?”

Huh. Hm. Huh.

“G... Are you...? Dave, wait, are you telling me that you are like...?”

“Jesus Christ, try not to fuckin’ implode, dude.” Oh god, he’s bright red. He’s so fucking red.

“I’m not-- pshh, I’m not imploding! _You’re_ the one who is imploding man, I am-- haha, I am cool as a cucumber right now!”

“Holy shit.”

“I am so, pffffff, oh MAN, I am so-- I mean that is really cool. That you are... you know.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God, dude, don’t do this. Like I’m givin’ you an out here to just stop.”

“Haha, jeez! Were you avoiding me because you thought I was like, haha, homophobic or some thing?”

Silence.

... Oh. Ouch.

“That’s...” You fumble for a minute, deluding yourself with the idea that you had something somewhere to finish the sentence, or even make one at all.

You’re hurt, genuinely very hurt at the thought of your best friend thinking you don’t like people just because of who they love. Do you really come across as that bigoted? Does he think you’re a horrible person?

“You know I don’t hate gay people, right? Like... I think it is pretty cool and totally fine if someone is gay. I don’t have anything against it.”

“Of course you don’t, man, I know that.”

But he doesn’t follow it up immediately with something else, something that explains anything about any of this. You are starting to feel terribly sick by the time he finally does.

“It’s just... see, we’ve known each other for a long time, right?” He looks at you, eyebrows raised, like this is even a question he needs confirmation on.

“Yeah, ages.” You humor him, if only to try and distract yourself momentarily from the sensation of imminent cookie tossing.

“Exactly, fuckin’ ages, man.” He’s using his hands now to help articulate his thoughts, doing dumb fucking gestures in a way that you recognize as him saying ‘I haven’t totally thought through what I am going to say, but I have a point and I am going to just bullshit my way to it.’

“And that means something, like we know each other pretty well by now I think, or at least God I’d fuckin’ hope so. But like... well, a side effect or whatever of bein’ friends for so long is obviously we knew each other when we were younger, and younger is synonymous with being a dumbfuck of vast proportions. Like I’m talking planetary analogies and everything, just full on cosmic simile up in this bitch.”

You don’t know what expression it is you’re wearing anymore, but it’s one that seems to freak Dave out into trying harder with whatever the fuck it is he is saying. Which so far has been nothing. He’s not really saying anything.

“We were stupid kids, is what I mean. Fuckin’ hapless motherfuckers wandering the hallowed halls of junior high with our thumbs up our asses. So obviously we did and said a lot of bullshit. Some of it kind of really uncool bullshit. Like dropping retarded into every other sentence and also kind of making a lot of gay jokes. Maybe a disproportionate amount of gay jokes.”

You are genuinely bamboozled. You guess it’s been a long time since you’ve really thought about any of this, which is to say, you haven’t ever thought about any of this.

Your anger and upset seems to have melted and left a horrible taste in your mouth. Your expression shifts, everything all screwed up like you bit into a mental lemon, but the lemon is crippling self-reflection. God, you hate self-reflection. You went on a whole mini-rant about this earlier, and you guess you are going to do it again; you hate this shit, it sucks, and it sucks on an undefinable level reflecting on how your stupid moron middle school jokes may have accidentally imprinted on your best friend.

“You’re not a bad person.” It’s quiet, quiet enough that it takes you a second to recognize he’s even said anything.

He’s looking at you all careful in the kind of way that you can feel it through those shitty shades you got him all those years ago. His lips are held together, like he’s fighting them to stay that way, and it’s weird but that’s what really drives everything home to you; you’re older, he’s older, and he’s grown. You remember when he wouldn’t think to curb his own nervous ramblings because he didn’t even realize it was something he did in the first place. You remember when his opinion was shoehorned into every topic of every conversation because it was hard for him to not make everything about himself. You think maybe that’s why he talked so much at all, like maybe it was a way for him to keep the focus on him, and if things strayed too far from himself he might just disappear entirely.

 

And then you hear a shriek from downstairs, followed by a distinctly goblin-esque voice proclaiming, “FUCK THIS PUSSY, BABE, FUCK IT.” And you and Dave are so caught off guard all you can do for a solid 20 seconds is stare stunned and mildly terrified on the floor of a strangers bedroom.

 

When you laugh, he laughs with you.

Thank God for college kids and borderline moronic frat parties. The weight lifts from both of you, and your insistent stupid brain ramblings dissipate into nothingness as you remember where you are, and who it is you’re with.

Things may have changed over the years, but not everything has.

“Alright, lemme be the first to come clean and say it; I love spittin’ emotional truths at two in the morning with you. This party might suck, but I think this is pretty okay.”

“Yeah, this is... I’m glad we came. Even if everything else has blown on a totally fundamental sort of level.”

You’re grinning, and he’s even sort of smiling back at you. You feel breathless looking at your best friend in this moment, and weirdly kind of electric. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re filled with concrete around the guy. You don’t quite know how to put it, but you think it might even be exhilarating.

You never forgot how much you love your friends-- honestly, it is kind of impossible considering how frequent the thought is-- but it has been a while since you’ve felt the full brunt force of it. Like getting hit in the face with a freight train, and then maybe pummeled with a couple of bricks for good measure. It’s so much, you can hardly hold it back.

“I love you so much, dude.”

Holy shit, and you don’t.

“I love you a lot, and I’m so sorry. I know I can be kind of an asshole--”

“Understatement.”

“Do you mind? I’m trying to be heartfelt.”

“Oh fuck, for real? John Egbert is acting like... like a _dweeb_? Dude, I’m sorry, but that’s just wrong, man. Like, that really violates my Egbert canon.”

“You fucking suck.”

“Yeah I know. Thought we were just discussing this.”

“You-- Oh, _gross,_ dude!”

You smack at him and he just smiles all crooked and smacks you back.

“That’s homophobic, John. This is incredible-- you can’t even keep up the ruse for half a minute.”

“I know you are just doing this because you feel awkward, you dick.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You lay in silence for a moment, just kind of looking at each other and soaking in the extent of your friendship. You’ve known each other so long, it’s honestly really hard for you to remember a time before you knew Dave.

It’s strange thinking that you’ve been around each other enough that you didn’t really notice the changes in one another as you got older. Sure, Dave got horrible pizza-face and shot up in height so fast over one summer he basically had to relearn how to walk, but he always just looked like Dave to you. You couldn’t even pinpoint exactly when his voice started to change, and looking back on it that was a pretty drastic shift. You wonder if he’s experienced the same thing with you, or if maybe in his eyes you’re completely different to how you were? Or if it’s even something he’d ever think about in the first place.

Haha, oh man, you even remember when the Stiller shades looked a little big on him. He’s always been a kind of skinny, lanky, weird dude, but before the growth spurt he looked straight up shrimpy, and those shades definitely didn’t do him any favors.

You mean, he still wore them.

Wears them.

You used to think it was just to spite you in a stupid, ironic, bullshit kind of way, but now you think it’s just because he really, honestly liked them. And maybe you like to think a part of it has to do with you, like it serves as a testament to your bro-ship. Or... a word that isn’t as stupid as ‘bro-ship’ is.

“I’m sorry I’m weird about this sort of stuff. I don’t want to be, but I guess it is kind of unavoidable because I don’t really have like... any experience with it?”

“All of your friends are gay, John.”

“Well!” You throw your arms up exasperated, and you catch Dave’s trying-not-to-smile smile turn into a genuine one. “It is kind of hard to talk about this when you keep undermining me, dude!”

“Wouldn’t undermine you if you didn’t keep startin’ to say stupid shit, dude, but please. Go on.”

“I just mean that like...”

What do you mean?

“Well... I don’t know! I guess I mean that I have never personally... you know.”

His eyebrows shoot way up over his shades, head tilting forward ever so slightly, and boy how you loathe when that happens because you know exactly the look he’s giving you behind that mistake of a birthday present.

“I have never experienced like a... gay feeling.”

“Jesus Christ, really? That’s what you’re going with? Whoof, aight man.”

“What? What was I _supposed_ to say?”

“You were supposed to finally admit to the real reason you had a wall dedicated to posters of Matthew Mcconaughey’s weird southern mug.”

“Alright, you can go fuck yourself.”

“Homophobic John back at it again.”

“How is it homophobic to not be gay?”

“Dunno, just is.”

“How did you even figure it out?”

“That I liked sword fighting?”

“Ew... sure. Yeah, that.”

There’s a thoughtful pause as Dave mulls over the question much like a professor in a lecture hall. His hands are clasped over his chest, thumbs idling against one another, and you can barely make out in the shitty light the way he’s working at his bottom lip.

“Well, I guess it’s sorta... well, like the gay jokes.”

You turn onto your side towards him so you can listen better, because he has just done that Dave inflection which is like some shitty cue to strap the fuck in because he's about to fly off the handle in the sense that he is basically just going to spit horse shit until he lands on something coherent.

“I guess on some level I was trying to distance myself from shit I didn’t really get as a kid. Like if I clowned on it hard enough then there was no way I could be gay because look at all of this totally self-assured commentary about how shit’s lame and gay. I’m not saying I was like full on galaxy brain homo and consciously ignoring that aspect of myself, I think it was more insidious than that. Like this infinite feedback loop that made a topic I didn’t totally get one big joke. Maybe I didn’t want to bother thinking about it on a deeper level because of what that might mean about me and how I feel about the dudes in my life.”

His hands are above him. He’s been articulating with them again, this time as a way to punctuate what he’s saying. They’re kind of hovering now as he takes a quiet and deep breath, before he drops them back to his chest.

“Man, I dunno if this is even making any sense. What I’m trying to say here is I didn’t have one definitive ah-ha moment where I sat down under the gay bodhi tree and had a four day meditation about the subject of cock.”

“Is this, like... your first real crush on a dude, then?”

“It's freaky how good you are at asking the most awkward questions possible, man.”

He laughs, but it’s a little shaky, and he’s looking out the window and away from you again. A hand goes from his chest to push the hair out of his eyes as he exhales low.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s whatever dude.” He sniffs and picks something off his shirt. “Nah, it’s not my first.”

“Oh, ok.” Is all you say, because you feel like the fact that he didn’t elaborate means this isn’t something open to friend-delving, even if the urge to pester feels kind of overwhelming, to the point that you feel almost jittery.

Instead, you both lay quietly on the floor. You can kind of make out the sounds of some sort of dialogue happening below you, but mostly you just hear muffled music and footsteps. Someone seems to be talking about making out, you think. You wonder if Dave’s made out with whoever this guy is.

You also wonder why you’d wonder that.

“We should probably bounce. I don’t really feel like falling asleep in a strangers house.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

 

***

 

You are driving back to Sweet Haus when you have an earth-shattering epiphany.

“Oh my God, is it— is it Karkat?”

Dave’s expression doesn’t change, but you see his hands suddenly white-knuckling the wheel, and you nearly blow a gasket.

“You totally are! I should have known when you mentioned tantrums! You’re dating Karkat fucking Vantas!”

“I feel like you’re accusing me.”

“Maybe! It’s fucking Karkat! That’s... That is very genuinely hard for me to wrap my head around, to be perfectly honest. And not in a gay way! I don’t care that it is a gay thing—”

“Thanks, homophobe John.”

“— It is just kind of befuddling thinking of you and Karkat being all romantic-y together after... af...”

EPIPHANY X2 COMBO!

“... How long has this been going on?”

“Uh,” Is his answer, and you feel like your eyes are going to explode they go so wide.

He’s paying very close attention to the road, and you know it is not because he is a responsible driver. You bet he is grateful for a decent excuse to not look at you right now, given the way his face seems to be coloring.

You genuinely kind of can’t believe this, but even more genuinely you think it sort of makes sense? Jesus, no wonder Dave was so enthusiastic about fucking with the dude all of the time. You guess that was weird flirting? Was that weird flirting? Oh man, were you inadvertently _part_ of the weird flirting?? Did Dave shoehorn you into his weird stupid flirting techniques at first because of the whole— like the gay joke thing? You think you are psychology-ing this; you are pretty sure Dave insisted you both bug the shit out of Karkat so much when you first met because he was trying to overcompensate being gay, like how he was talking about before.

Holy shit, have you consistently been Dave’s gay scapegoat?

“Well let’s just clarify that we’re not— like, we’re not _datin_ ’, you know, we’re just, uh. Yeah.”

He looks like he thinks he just said something. What the fuck.

“What the fuck? What do you mean you aren’t dating?”

“That we’re not dating, dunno, thought that was pretty self-explanatory.”

??????

“Not really??”

“Oh. We’re not boyfriends.”

“What does that— have you been macking on?”

“Maybe slow down, man, I think you’re giving yourself a stroke.”

“No! Shut up! Have you— did you kiss Karkat?”

“Ew.”

“Ew????????”

“Didn’t like hearing you that.”

???????????

“HAVE you?”

“Yeah, man.” He concedes, leaning over the wheel to check his blind spot in a way that makes him look especially bird like.

You can’t believe this. if he’s kissed Karkat then what hasn’t he told you?

“You’ve been kissing Karkat.”

“Yup.”

“But you’re not his boy friend??”

“Mhm.”

“Then wh-“

It hits you like an expertly aimed tin full of shaving cream but instead of cream it’s bricks and the bricks are also on a train. Dave looks caught between amusement and nausea when you look at him, eyes bugging out of your skull.

“What?”

“You know what!”

“C’mon man. We’re all adults here. Having an adult conversation about an adult relationship.”

“But you just said it wasn’t a relationship!”

He shrugs. It’s maddening.

You can feel your own tantrum rearing its ugly head, so you press yourself back hard against your seat as you exhale deep through your nose to try and placate it. You know for a fact that he is not going to give you the mercy of any sort of reasonable explanation, at least not tonight, so there really is no purpose in continuing to brainsplode yourself. You are basically an adult now, you can control yourself.

“You are such a stupid dickwad-y, fart faced fucking... dumbass moron sometimes, dude.” Kind of control yourself. In the way that counts, at least.

Dave grins.

If you weren’t in an automotive vehicle, you would punch his stupid arm into next year. Or the fucking sun. You would explode the sun with Dave’s punched-off arm so hard, next year wouldn’t even exist anymore.

There’s a sourness in your stomach, and all you can do to placate it is grimace out your window. You can’t believe he is “not”-dating his old roommate, and that he’s been fucking off so much BECAUSE he has been “not-dating said roommate. It’s not like you dislike Karkat, he’s definitely one of the better people you know, but you guess it just kind of sucks having your best friend go around you like that? It definitely feels totally kind of super shitty and not cool for some reason, and that is the only thing you can really think of that would warrant that.

He’s got this stupid shitty little look on his face that’s halfway between smug and... oh. You guess kind of sheepish, actually? He’s still kind of pink... at least, you think so? It is admittedly kind of hard to tell when the only real illumination is coming off of whatever you are driving past, streaking light across his face like it’s being painted. Again, you are struck with the peculiar idiosyncrasies of your friend, the kind that only seem to stand out in quiet moments like this one.

And more importantly, when you can barely see him and his weird gangly pointy bird-y features.

“You look like a pelican.”

“Thanks, man.”


	2. the one with pesterlogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John thinks on his conversation with Dave and his feelings, and we time travel like massive tools into Dave Strider's past. Consider this chapter 1 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is technically half of the second chapter but i figured i should just post something bc its been so long and i just want to share things at this point oml...

You can’t sleep.

You toss and turn and stare dead at the ceiling, painting in all the cracks and crevices and treating the strange stains as though they were clouds, seeing shapes where there are none. You have counted imaginary sheep, you have counted imaginary popsicle sticks because you thought maybe it would work if it was something more boring than sheep, you have even counted non-imaginary hair on your arm, all to no avail. You try and think about why you can’t sleep, but perhaps the real problem is you can’t really think in the first place.

You keep hearing Dave’s voice in your head, keep going over the events of the night, the week, the last few months— you feel like pieces are falling into place, but you can’t be sure because it doesn’t really seem like you’re actually processing anything? Like, you are just mentally going through the motions, maybe.

You’re frankly a little befuddled as to why you seem to be having such a massive brain fart. Sure, things with Dave didn’t necessarily go how you expected them even a little bit, but you didn’t think it was all that earth shattering after the initial shock wore off. You even cracked some jokes when you got home— the nice kind of joke and not the weighted shitty middle school kind— and Dave laughed and invited you to hang out with him and Karkat some time to try and help mend the weird friend gap.

Everything felt fine until you crawled into bed and tried to go to sleep, and now it all just keeps playing back like some shitty record doing the one-two step.

You frown hard at the ceiling, fretting your lower lip as you wonder if this means maybe you aren’t as gay-friendly as you’ve been telling yourself. But you don’t feel mean-spirited about it at all— you aren’t angry or upset, maybe just... a little uncomfortable? Not because it is gay, but because it’s different?

Is that homophobia? God, you feel like you should be able to tell if that’s homophobic or not.

You grind the heels of your hands into your eyes to try and scrub the stupidity out.

How long has Dave known, you wonder? How long has he kept this part of himself swept under the metaphorical rug?

He sort of said before a part of him probably knew back in middle school, when every other joke was about dicks and being so super gay, that’s gay, haha, you are gay. Which sure, you guess it makes sense. He did have a sort of uncanny talent for making everything about dicks and eating ass.

But how long has it been since he stopped kidding himself?

You think back to high school, to his brief relationship with Jade, and you wonder if he knew then. You were pretty sure he had actual feelings for her, and you know Jade definitely had some for him, so maybe not? Then again, Dave only said he liked guys. He didn’t say he disliked girls.

Wait, did he? Does he still like girls?

Oh man, you are so not equipped for this level of friend introspection. You kind of feel dirty trying to figure the dude out. It frankly feels like you are somehow mocking him as a person who is real and has feelings and is just generally pretty complicated. Why is it important for you to figure him out? How does Rose do this all the time? How does she sleep at night??

You let out a sigh, and glance over at the blurry blob you know to be the door. You ponder very briefly if Dave is managing any sleep, and you know that of course he is. The relief coming off the guy at the end of the night was like being slapped by feel-good waves. The tension had finally melted and he was nudging and prodding and joking with you, and you were doing it right back. You’re sure he’s sleeping well after shedding that kind of weight.

Man, him and Karkat.

Mentally putting the two together elicits the same curious, sour-stomach feeling from earlier, and you feel the overwhelming urge to punch yourself in the face. What the hell is your problem? It’s not like you think they’re bad together or anything. It actually makes a lot of sense, the more you think about it, and there are a lot of ways you can see their personalities actually helping level one another.

But Dave specifically went out of his way to clarify that they weren’t in a relationship, and you’re having such a hard time really wrapping your head around that one. You really do not think Karkat is the type of person who would be totally okay with just a uh, you know... purely physical relationship? And you have an equally hard time imagining Dave being happy like that, either. So are they just making each other kind of miserable because neither of them are brave enough to take the first big step, or have they created a coward bromanship and quietly agreed to basically be a thing but never fully admit to it because they both have the capacity to be stubborn and delusional to ridiculous and almost inhuman degrees?

You guess Dave is happy enough in whatever relationship they have to have admitted to it in the first place, if kind of shittily and because you called him out on it. Knowing Dave, that’s still pretty significant given again, he is the master of stubborn delusion when he wants to be.

Maybe they don’t want to make it an official thing so it doesn’t totally disrupt their friendship? You’d understand that, probably more than anything else; when Dave and Jade broke up, you had been genuinely kind of worried the friend group wouldn’t survive, and even kind of regretted encouraging them into a relationship in the first place.

Are you and Dave going to talk about this at all after tonight? Or is this one of those one time only special deals where you acknowledge it and are supposed to just move on like it did not really happen because it isn’t actually that big of a deal? Will Dave feel weird if you ask him about things? Will that come across like you aren’t being supportive?

You let out a long sigh, the longest sigh of all, and close your eyes.

No, this isn’t going to be a big deal. This isn’t going to change anything. You already feel horrible that he didn’t feel totally comfortable telling you in the first place, you aren’t about to make things worse.

You are going to be a good friend, and you are going to do the best friend thing you can think to do.

You will not bring this up again. You will not make things weird. You love your best friend, you are so proud of your best friend, and Dave being gay doesn’t change anything because Dave has not changed. This is a part of who he is.

Tomorrow, you won’t look at him any differently, you won’t think about him any differently, and you will stop trying to pick apart his psyche like it is any of your business.

You are ready to have your best friend back again. You won’t let your own dumb bullshit ruin that.

***

Your name is Dave Strider, you’re 13, and you are meeting your friends in person for the first time. It had been an incredibly painful process trying to coordinate with everyone to get this shit to finally transpire, and to say convincing Bro was like pulling teeth is putting it lightly, but it’s happening.

It’s happening and you feel like you’re going to fucking yarl.

Sure, part of your sickness is due to the fact that you were just recently on a contraption which defies the laws of physics and human nature, soaring 35,000 feet above God’s Green Earth like some sort of jackass practically begging the universe to try and fuck your shit up.

But a greater part is your piercing nerves, which didn’t fully hit until the plane landed and you got the text from Rose saying they were all waiting for you at baggage claim.

You’re sweating pit stains the size of lake superior through your tee, and you keep clearing your throat, like that will help you reclaim some of your cool.

It’s hard to place exactly what’s freaking you out given the fact that all your friends (save maybe Rose) are about as intimidating as a tub of ice cream. Even Rose, who is the freakiest broad you’ve ever met, still exudes more nerd miasma than anything. She writes wizard smut for fucks sake, the bar’s pretty fucking low.

And yet you still find yourself shaking slightly, adrenaline hitting so hard you can practically hear it hum in your ears.

You manage to steady yourself somewhat by gripping the straps of your backpack, maintaining your precious wall of indifference just convincingly enough to hide behind as you lose your whole shit.

You get a text from Jade asking if you have any luggage they should keep an eye out for, and you respond easy as anything that nah man, all you brought was your sweet self.

 

> TG: see you in a year maybe this shits unloading at the speed of chipotle  
>  TG: and i aint talking bout the service  
>  GG: ..........  
>  TG: chipotle shits jade  
>  GG: yeah i got it :/  
>  TG: ok sure but you werent hawhawing the way you would have been if you actually got it  
>  TG: it was a really good joke harley its cool if you didnt understand you grew up with nary a fast food joint for miles around  
>  TG: its only natural this kind of prime clowning would go right over your head  
>  GG: dave just because i have not personally been to a chipotle it doesn’t mean i didn’t get your shitty joke!  
>  TG: i mean you can keep lying if it makes you feel better i dont care  
>  TG: i got more important things on my mind than a friend being kind of petty for the sake of their ego  
>  GG: -.-;  
>  TG: like seeing said friend  
>  GG: yeah!  
>  GG: so get your butt over here i want to meet you already!!!!  
>  TG: hey im doing my best harley alright  
>  TG: what do you expect me to do punt the kid in the wheelchair off the fucking plane  
>  TG: hey man sorry about your legs or lack thereof but i got a hot date with some dweebs the other side of this here terminal so with all due respect this is where im gonna have to dropkick a bitch  
>  TG: im just as unhappy about this as you are but i dont have any say in the matter i got explicit instructions that this is how its gotta be  
>  TG: if you had legs this wouldnt be a problem so its kind of on you man  
>  TG: anyway time to high five the horizon with your face lets do this  
>  TG: oh hey i think were moving  
>  GG: you better be!  
>  TG: ill let the flight attendant know im a hot priority  
>  TG: excuse me maam you may have heard of me i INVENTED sweet bro and hella jeff  
>  TG: uh yeah literally dozens of people follow it  
>  TG: ok were unloading now brb  
>  TG: or see you soon i guess

You sigh and hoist your bag up a little better as you slip out to exit this fucking deathtrap. The flight attendant says something you don’t hear that’s probably something along the lines of “thank you for taking part in this social experiment” or whatever it is flight attendants say, and you’re let loose into the airport.

Not long now.

As you blindly follow along signs indicating the direction of the baggage claim, you get more messages on your phone. Jade is telling you that Daddy Eggs (she doesn’t say Daddy Eggs, it just sort of immediately translates into your head as such) has left to get the car ready so you better hurry up, and Rose is asking if you perhaps got on the wrong flight. John hasn’t messaged you yet, but you aren’t really worried. You’re sure he’s too busy pissing his pants at the thought of finally meeting you.

When you finally get to the baggage claim, you guess they see you before you see them because you hear a shrill shout of, “DAVE!!” within seconds.

You look around quickly to gage the direction it’s coming from to brace yourself, but your vigilance is all for naught as a goddamn freight train slams into your back, sending you stumbling on your way to eat shit. You manage to catch yourself with an awkward pseudo-hopping on one leg for balance, arms plastered to your sides as they’re being crushed into you by what looks to be Cousin It.

“DAVE!!!! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!! You’re finally here!!!” Cousin It pulls back to give you a stern look. “Took you long enough.”

You hold up your hands as best you can in this position, mouth opening to try and defend yourself as waves of heat crash hard onto your face, when Rose saunters over, arms crossed, smirking in a way that might even be genuine.

“Hello, Dave.”

“Lalonde,” You acknowledge, nodding your head all suave as you are being crushed by the human trash compactor. “Where’s uh..?”

“He had to talk to his dad about something, he should be... ah, there he is.”

Your head turns almost robotically in order to compensate how instantaneously it tried to snap over to look in the same direction as Rose. You feel Jade’s unearthly grip loosen around you as she finally relents and steps back, and your arms lower to your side on their own.

“Hey!” He calls to you across the way, arm reaching up to wave wildly as he begins to run over, and you feel like you’re going to throw up all over again.

“Dude, what took you so long? My dad had to go move the car!”

“Really? The first thing you do when you finally see your best bro in person is antagonize him for being stuck behind a dude smelling like a pack of camels and a wet sock for the last 15 minutes? Egbert, for shame.”

“Yeah bull, you’d do the same to me.”

“Touché.”

He’s still moving over to you and you are genuinely confused as to why until his arms are wrapping around you, this time underneath yours, so you’re left holding your arms up kind of confused and very caught off guard and awkward as fuck.

“It’s good to see you, man.”

Your breath catches, so it takes you a moment to compose yourself and let your arms settle down on him, if tentatively.

“Uh, yeah man. It’s good to see you too. You don’t need to be all lame about it or whatever.”

“Eh,” He shrugs as he pulls back, grinning a bit. “I think it’s ok to be kind of lame, given the circumstances. Besides, I hugged Jade and Rose, and I didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“Oh! Oh, we can finally group hug, guys!!”

“Uh, no Jade, I don’t think that’s—”

“Yeah Harley, let’s not get carried a—”

“GROUP HUG!”

Instantaneously, you’re swept up into another hug, which far oversteps your hug quotia for the day, let alone the last 15 fucking minutes. Rose is equally unnerved by this unabashed display of affection, stiffed in by Jade’s freakish arm strength against you and John, who leapt on the opportunity to make you both incredibly uncomfortable as soon as the words had left Jade’s mouth.

Your crazy sweaty and can feel how your heart is beating— you think they are infecting you already with this horrible disease called friendship. You can’t even bring yourself to look at any of them while it’s happening, eyes turned to the ceiling as you beg for it to be over already. Not because you necessarily hate it or anything, but because at this rate, you’re not sure how well you are going to keep up the facade. You feel it cracking under the weight of all of everything happening at once like this, all your friends in one place seeing them for the first time ever and being showered in horrible, terrible affection— or maybe that cracking is your ribs.

God, these dweebs are strong.

***

The Egbert household is a fucking disaster.

You aren’t totally lacking in sanity, you’re well aware of the fact that your apartment ain’t exactly run of the mill, but at least it’s honest about the nature of how out of whack it is. This shit is just ridikulus, like with a k and everything, fucking RIDIKULUS.

As you, Jade, and Rose cross the threshold, you share a look which roughly translates to, “Fucking Yikes.”

You’d heard plenty of times from John about the detestable presence of clownery or whatnot spurned from his dad, but you never really expected it to be anything like this.

If you were to turn your head very quickly in scanning the Egbert home, it’d probably read as any other boring suburban abode, all fireplaces and cakes and whatever the fuck, but looking at it clearly for a few measly seconds is some rude awakening; the place is straight up infested with clown-looking motherfuckers, like absolutely fucking rife with these mischevious fucks. The decapitated head of one of these fools, by every definition of the word, practically greets you as you walk in. All smug and shit on top of a nautical wheel for no goddamn reason, looking like he just stuffed Sweet Baby Betty into the back of his trunk and got away with it. And somehow, looking away from that piece of shit is worse; the fucking artwork in this place is a goddamn travesty. Like Big Poppa Eggs makes it his business to waltz into every thrift store around town and requests with a flourish of his fatherly hat that they supply him with their finest piece of hot, probably haunted garbage. Every turn of your head leaves you with more questions than you started with. The fucking lamp even has one of these impish dicks. You think that shelf over there is solely dedicated to displaying these nasty ass clowns.

John is giving you all a look that seems to quietly plead for your mercy, to disregard the fact that his home is a museum for cursed pieces of shit.

Like that would even fucking work.

John has clowned (hah, nice) on your puppet situation for far too long. You’re going to make sure to bring this up every chance you get.

Regardless of the hilarious misfortune of the decor, it weirdly doesn’t take all that long for you to settle in. You all post up in the living room pretty fast, and John’s dad pretty much immediately disappears into the kitchen. It’s not too far into you heckling John over his top movie picks that the smell starts permeating the whole house; brownies and cupcakes-- and not too long after, the smell of cookies joins in. You’d think it was jarring if you realized how quickly you were getting comfortable here, how easily the smell of vanilla and chocolate wafting from a hot oven and a low crackling fireplace disarmed you. It will take you years to retroactively recognize this as being the first time you ever fully relaxed, if even for a little bit. The first time you weren’t constantly on edge and scanning for what was to come. The first time you just were.

John manages to strongarm a small McConaughey marathon, like it’s going to prove some sort of point outside of confirming McConaughey is the least human person ever to grace the silver screen.

“Look, he thinks he’s people.” You remark, quickly met with John’s articulate response of chucking some popcorn at your face, which you easily duck away from.

Jade clings to your arm the whole time-- something you are so aggressively cool about-- both of you sitting on the floor in front of the couch where John and Rose have captured the higher ground. You and Rose eventually manage to bully John and Jade into a friend-watch of Mac and Me, professing that it’s an emotional and religious rite you all must go through in order to become closer as friends. Jade is complaining the whole time, and you have to keep reminding her that this is as wholesome as it gets, Jade. Ain’t gonna find more pure and honest family fun than right here. Rose joins in and confides that this is a movie about the human condition. John seems tormented the entire way through, groaning in defeat every time something especially good happens on screen, and you turn to look him directly in the eyes.

When you casually drop that this was a movie produced by McDonald’s during the poignant shitshow where the kid dies, Jade absolutely loses it, apparently having had no idea.

“Yeah it makes sense, that sort of thing could go right over someone’s head. Hey, remember that scene in E.T. when the Burger King kidnaps the Extra Terrestrial and Henry Thomas goes to rescue him, and E.T.’s krumping on the countertops and everyone’s rubbed down in whopper sauce doing the fuckin’ macarena?”

“I thought that was just a goof, I don’t know! Like a silly 80’s family movie type of thing.”

“Jade, sometimes I envy your optimism.” John laments, slumped against the arm of the couch. At this point, you and Rose have entirely exhausted him, insisting against all objections, that this is his favorite movie.

You straight up demolish the absolutely abysmal snackage Dadbert supplies, tearing through the plate of brownies like it ain’t a damn thing. Jade seems flabbergasted by your etiquette, calling you out as you shrug and concede around a mouthful of chocolate goo, “dude, I fuckin’ love brownies.” Minutes later you feel incredibly nauseous, and your very good friends who love and care for you just sit and laugh as your stomach enters the first circles of hell. Rose seems the most quiet of the three as you go what, what the fuck did I do, I was fucking hungry, and seems as though she’s formulating a thought that’s going to come back to haunt you (it does).

While Rose and Jade are setting up monopoly and you’re still writhing in agony, John finally seems to get fed up with your suffering and drags you into the kitchen so he can make you tea and shut you the hell up. You’ve never really had tea before, so you’re kind of floored when you discover apparently there’s more than one kind.

He asks you, “Peppermint, or lemon ginger?”

“Better question: do you have anything that doesn’t taste like dogshit?”

“Peppermint it is.”

He grabs a kettle from the stovetop and goes to fill it with water, and you stand not at all awkwardly around the doorway of the kitchen, looking around with your hands shoved into your pockets, slouching to appropriately convey just how casual and cool you are. This is the least clown-infested of all the rooms you’ve seen so far— in fact, you can’t spot any from where you’re standing. There isn’t all that much decoration in here at all, you note, outside of the potted plant in the corner, and the shit on the fridge. As John is putting the kettle on, you saunter over to get a better look at what you believe might very well be a masterpiece hung up by some shitty jester magnet.

“Fuck, you did this like a week ago?” You’re pointing at the slimer, misshapen and crumpled where it hangs miserably.

“Uh,” John glances from you to the drawing, mouth twisting a little as his cheeks almost seem to go pink. “I mean, I guess? I already know it’s shitty, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“What? No dude, not even. This fucking rules, man. I mean obviously your old man’s got an eye for interior design, but this is a goddamn masterpiece.”

“Okay, shut up.” He’s smiling though, turning to grab mugs from the cabinet as you quickly follow after, hovering behind him.

“Nah man, for real. I’m not even fucking with you, I’d get a tattoo of that. Like all fucking blown up on my chest. I’d let slimer deflower my perfect body if it looked like that.”

He snorts, turning to look at you incredulously as he sets the mugs on the counter, reaching for the teabags which you are pointedly in the way of.

“No, no, dude you aren’t listening to me, like you obviously aren’t getting the full scope of how fucking sick that is. Like I’m flipping the fuck out with some swords on the rooftop, shirt off because of how goddamn sweaty it is like straight up swealtering Houston heat, dog, like cook your breakfast on the sidewalk put the local diner out of business cement griddle heat, and obviously I attract some onlookers because how fucking chiseled I am and just straight up killing it, like going absolutely ape with those swords, abs totally cut, and this righteous motherfuckin slimer practically dripping all over me, like my body is a ghostbusters temple and I’m just paying holy tribute.”

Dude’s snort-laughing something fierce, now, still trying to prod you out of the way, but you’re insisting your presence, smug as hell.

“Holy shit, shut up man, I gotta-- oh my god, you dick, I’m trying to fucking help you and you’re just-- dude, move!”

“Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, you’re still not getting it, you gotta-- man, quit-- you got-- quit it, bro, I’m telling you this is-- stop, dude, stop, I’m trying to talk to you, John, I’m trying to-- wow, do you treat all your houseguests like this? Rude as fuck, man, I’m just trying to-- dude, holy shit-- I’m just trying to tell you how much I love your artwork. I’m being nice, bro. No goddamn respect.”

He’s trying to reach around you, flailing and swiping blind as you hold him back, no sweat. You keep telling him how much of an artist he is, how his work is incredibly profound, you’re changed now after bearing witness, you’re a better man— and he fights through his laughter to protest adamantly. You let him go after a beat, over-estimating his ability to adjust on the fly, and he falls into you. You half-snort as you’re pushed back, one hand going to the counter for support, and the other moving to push John off.

But you don’t, for some reason. Your hand hovers in the air awkwardly above his shoulder, and you swallow something that seems to have caught in your throat.

His hair’s tickling the underside of your chin. His hands are against your chest. You hope, under everything, that he can’t feel the way your heart is stuttering.

This lasts for only an instant.

“Uh,”

He recovers fast, pulling away from you to escape to the kettle as it begins to whistle.

“Do you even still need the tea at this point?” He asks, turned away from you as he pulls the water off, and it takes slightly longer than usual to formulate a response.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want your water boiling skills to go to waste.” Something flutters in your chest when you catch the obvious color on his face as he pours, shouldering past you to finally snag the teabags.

“Hardy har,” He plops one into each mug, and then slides two over for you to help carry back into the living room. As you pick them up, he’s already heading out again, and you find yourself hovering behind for a moment longer.

It’s your stomach, you tell yourself. It’s just your stomach.

***

Your name is Dave Strider, you are 14 years old, and you’re going to ask Jade on a date.

It’s taken years of laying the right foundation and absolutely not you pussying out last second every single time until now, but you’re finally going to do it. You will cross the line. As a wise man once said, where doing this. Where making this hapen.

And because you’re determined to do this right, of course you are consulting your best friend beforehand because this is a very important decision and you can’t postpone it any longer. No more bullshitting, you are going to ask her out. It has been long enough that you are both well aware of the fact that you have feelings for each other, it’s just a matter of formality. So you’re fucking doing this. You’re talking to John.

> TG: hey man took your time coming online today you good  
>  TG: look dude we gotta talk  
>  TG: i know we kinda touched on it last night but it might help if you fielded some shit for me since yknow you and harley are both in the same sort of dorkish arena  
>  TG: like me and rose are the baseball hitters and you and jade are there with the gloves and shit scurrying around doing some whacky 3 stooges bull  
>  TG: pie slinging shenanigans abound  
>  TG: and i just want to make sure i dont accidentally insult her or anything yknow because sometimes the translation from totally ill spin master to furry whimsy weirdo with gun and hellhound aint so smooth  
>  EB: hey dave.  
>  EB: do you think we could talk about this some other time, or are you having one of your crises?  
>  TG: crises  
>  TG: wtf are you talking about egbert im crises free  
>  TG: have been my whole life  
>  TG: vaccinated for that shit as a babe its physically impossible for me to be afflicted with a crisis of any shape size or color  
>  TG: disrespectful you acting like ive ever flipped once my whole life  
>  TG: im clutching that handle man  
>  TG: practically glued to that thing no pirouettes off the handle for old d strides  
>  TG: you good dog  
>  EB: yeah, i’m good.  
>  EB: i am just kind of tired i think.  
>  TG: school stuff?  
>  EB: i guess?  
>  EB: i’ve just been having a tough time with some of the people there lately.  
>  EB: it’s not a big deal or what ever, i’m just kind of tired tonight, pff.  
>  TG: nah man dont sweat  
>  TG: i just kicked down your metaphorical internet door and demanded you help me with shit you really dont need to be bothered with seeing as i am also totally unbothered with it bc its not like theres any kind of real problem here  
>  EB: i’m not bothered by it!  
>  EB: i like talking about that stuff with you, it’s cool that you trust me enough to confide in me.  
>  TG: i mean i literally dont have anyone else to talk to about this  
>  TG: but if that makes you feel better sure man  
>  TG: i believe in your ability to give sound relationship advice and this is definitely not me acting out of necessity  
>  TG: still its not really all that pressing like i said it doesnt actually concern you or whatever youre kind of sticking your nose where it doesnt belong egbert its pretty sad  
>  TG: anyways like i said you can talk about it  
>  TG: i dont think ive actually heard whats up on your end in a while tbh  
>  EB: yeah, probably because you never shut up!  
>  TG: yeah  
>  TG: whats good man  
>  TG: or bad  
>  TG: whatever

His reply takes a hot minute, long enough for you to unearth a stash of capri suns you hid behind a shelf of records. When you stab the straw through, the ping sounds from your computer.

> EB: i guess i’m kind of failing biology? my teacher talked to me about it a couple days ago, and said that it wasn’t that big of a deal and i could do some make-up assignments if i wanted. so no big deal whatever... but they also kind of forced me to be in this program where an upperclassman tutors you during study hall, and i wasn’t too against the idea at first, but the girl that tutors me is really popular and for some reason that means everyone has to give me shit now.  
>  EB: like they keep bugging me about when i’m going to make a move, or if i’m even paying attention when she’s helping me, and it really pisses me off.  
>  EB: not just because it’s annoying for me, but i can’t imagine what it’s like for her, you know? everyone thinking that your life is their business like that, it sort of sucks.  
>  EB: so i told off someone at lunch today when they tried to make another shitty comment, and then they got super pissed off and tried to turn it into an actual fight, and the supervisor caught on right as it started, and of course the dude said i was the cause of everything and they didn’t even ask for my side of it, they just gave me detention.  
>  EB: they called my dad and everything.  
>  EB: and i guess it just sort of seems like this sort of thing is happening a lot more frequently now. like people are getting fed up with me?  
>  EB: or maybe i am getting fed up with them, i don’t know.  
>  EB: i just wish you guys lived closer, i guess.  
>  EB: it’s getting harder as time goes on to just... not have friends?  
>  TG: you do have friends though  
>  EB: you know what i mean.

You lean back in your chair, hand moving to cover up your mouth slightly as it twists to the side. You let out a steady breath through your nose, and your eyebrows furrow as, in a rare moment, you find yourself trying to think about what you’re going to say.

It’s always a little weird when this comes up in conversations between you and any of your friends, because you all pretty much feel the same way, and there’s not really a whole lot you can do about it aside from feel miserable as a collective, rather than some poor sap in whatever lonely corner of the world.

But you feel like a “yeah man me too,” wouldn’t be much help in this situation, so you’re at a bit of a loss. Which is a problem, because you kind of make it your business to have something to say about everything.

Your hesitance to respond is met with another small set of pings after the moment has passed, and you full on frown.

> EB: but yeah like i said it’s not a big deal, it’s just kind of a bummer.  
>  EB: i feel better now though, so we could talk about jade stuff if you’d like.  
>  EB: are you still going to ask her today?  
>  TG: maybe were due for another meetup  
>  TG: its been a while right  
>  TG: i still need to see you play this horseshit game anyways i cant believe you think youd be better at it than me  
>  TG: ive been mastering this hilarious biznasty since i was fresh out the womb  
>  TG: mashing buttons like nobodys business got thumbs like two hotdogs  
>  TG: i can probably pester bro into another ticket  
>  TG: its not like the dude doesnt have the money  
>  TG: i can bet hell make it some sort of test like make me have to earn it or some shit like that but its not like its anything i cant handle thats how it goes regular anyways  
>  TG: maybe we can do it next month and you can give my birthday present to me in person  
>  TG: watch my face light up all cherubic and shit like oh this for widdle ol me you shouldnt have  
>  TG: friend meetup 2.0 where doing this  
>  EB: go ahead and just invite yourself to my house, dude!  
>  TG: yeah just did  
>  EB: oh. well ok then.  
>  EB: at least it will save me money on the delivery fee for your dumbass present!  
>  EB: and i guess seeing you would be pretty cool too.  
>  TG: sure but this is really just to help cut costs on package delivery that shits a scam  
>  TG: as soon as you give me my present im fucking gone  
>  EB: glad to know i’ll have a way to get rid of you when you start acting like a translucent jackass.  
>  EB: should i message jade and rose and get them in on this, or do you want to?  
>  TG: maybe itd be cool if it was just us  
>  TG: like not saying they couldnt pop in later or whatever but last time it sort of felt like we didnt get any quality bro time yknow  
>  TG: like i didnt get to set your underwear on fire and you didnt flush my head down the toilet or whatever  
>  EB: i WAS really bummed out when i didn’t get to flush your head down the toilet...  
>  EB: i’d totally be down for some one-on-one bro action, dude!  
>  TG: hell yes  
>  EB: hell fucking yes!!  
>  TG: where doing this  
>  EB: where making this hapen B)

***

Your name is Dave Strider, you turned 15 just over a week ago, and one of your sporadic bouts of insomnia is hitting you hard.

You glance over to where John is curled next to you on the floor, almost entirely swallowed up by his blue sleeping bag. He managed to wiggle his way down until all you can see of the kid is his unruly mop of hair. Curled around himself like a pillsbury crescent roll.

You let out a sigh, sweeping some hair out of your eyes so you can stare off into nothing better. The fireplace is long dead, and the only light in the living room is streaming in from the kitchen, where John left it on so you could find your way to the bathroom easier or some bullshit like that. You kind of think he left it on for his own sake, but you didn’t say anything. You know better than anyone what a fucking hassle it can be to sleep, so whatever works, you guess.

You reach for your phone after a hot minute of staring at soulless harlequin figurines perched unnervingly nearby, resolving that it’d be better to fill this time with something that might distract you from the encroaching sense of familiarity sparked by empty glass eyes.

It’s your luck Rose is online, which isn’t a surprise or anything-- you both have a tendency to rotate the same hours. As you’re about to drop a text in chat, she beats you to it.

> TT: Are you and John still up?  
>  TT: David, are you torturing that poor boy to keep you company in even your restless hours?  
>  TG: nah he passed out like an hour ago  
>  TG: dudes mad weak at his all nighter game its straight up abysmal  
>  TT: I thought you two were up all of last night, John told me as much.  
>  TG: well yeah but that shouldnt impede on your fuckin steaze like what just because we didnt get sleep last night were supposed to get any sleep at all  
>  TG: thats called privilege rose and this dweebs rife with it  
>  TG: absolutely motherfuckin entrenched up to the tits cant go two feet without stepping in that mess aint the type you can scrape off with a stick  
>  TG: you tell him to check that shit and what does this jackass do?  
>  TG: fucking trips headlong into a big ol faceful of it the mans a lost cause hes a fucking travesty  
>  TG: horrible goddamn host leaving me hanging like this all worked up and raring to bond and this selfish fuck decides nah id rather fucking sleep  
>  TG: and ive tried waking him ive done a casual kick here and there but the mans comatose  
>  TG: i also think he might snore  
>  TG: every couple of minutes ill hear a sound like a sasquatch is getting punched in the nuts  
>  TT: He definitely snores. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on that last time. He was certainly doing it enough.  
>  TT: How has your bro-only meetup fared so far? I haven’t heard much from either of you these last two days.  
>  TT: Harley’s getting quite antsy with your absence; she spent a good hour lamenting how we’d probably never hear from you guys again.  
>  TT: I was beginning to think she might’ve been onto something.  
>  TG: i mean hey i get that youre both mad jealous john gets me all to himself  
>  TG: im really spoiling the dude at this point just showering him in my presence  
>  TG: getting that good creme de strider rubbed deep into his thirsty little pores  
>  TG: gotta make sure shit sticks because idk when were gonna be able to do this next  
>  TG: bro was kind of a pain in the ass  
>  TT: Do you want to talk about it?  
>  TG: nah  
>  TG: not like it was any different from usual really  
>  TG: just getting a little harder to live with lately  
>  TT: Perhaps because you are finally exhibiting the need to be an individual, and are focusing on things outside of his personal agenda.  
>  TT: From what you’ve told me about him, he seems to have a pretty rigid idea of who you are supposed to be as a person, sculpted in his own image.  
>  TT: Understandable he’d be intimidated by you pursuing your friends when he’s never had any of his own.  
>  TG: holy shit zing  
>  TG: yeah idk john and i were talking about it a bit earlier  
>  TG: not like super in depth or anything  
>  TG: johns convinced bro is a wet fucking blanket and i dont think i really disagree  
>  TG: i told him how bro went lowkey apeshit when i asked about another trip out here not like regular apeshit like the kind of apeshit where you gotta watch your back even when youre taking a piss  
>  TG: i dont know what bros deal is with me being out of state like the dude brought up john visiting us instead like thats even an option  
>  TG: like if the man threw tantrums he was having one bc he had to blow his basically endless supply of cash on me leaving for a couple of days like its an endangerment to my training or whatever having some time to fucking relax  
>  TT: I take it you’re pleased to have some distance? Your relationship with your brother has been fairly strained the last couple of years, it seems.  
>  TT: I’m honestly relieved that you’re finally talking against him, I think it’s been long overdue.  
>  TT: I’d say John was putting it lightly in calling him a “wet blanket,” I have a fair few more colorful words for that man.  
>  TG: like fucking psychopath  
>  TT: Yes, something like that.

You run your hand over your face, glancing over towards John once again as you try and process the bad taste in your mouth.

You’re dreading the end of this trip, but you don’t think you could tell John as much. It feels mad uncool dropping some heavy info like that, especially when he’d probably flip his shit and try to get you to stay, or do something equally stupid and noble. You don’t think there’s anyone out there more genuinely good than John, and it’s kind of a pain in the ass.

> TT: Unfortunate family members aside-- the trip’s been good so far?  
>  TG: yeah tbh its been kind of fucking surreal  
>  TG: like instead of being lowkey awkward like how it was the first time around its just been kinda like weve known each other for years normally instead of the sad does it actually count type of way  
>  TG: its really easy being around the guy its so fucking unnerving  
>  TT: Yes, I think we can all agree that John’s uncanny ability to make one feel comfortable is disturbing, to say the least.  
>  TT: He’s so easy to be friends with, it’s enough to send shivers down your spine.  
>  TG: i know youre clowning on me but you have to admit that it doesnt make any sense that his only friends are ones hes made online  
>  TT: He is a little more outspoken than most people might be comfortable with.  
>  TT: And it’s not past him to be kind of an asshole.  
>  TG: yeah but thats part of it that just makes you like him more  
>  TG: i guess i dont get it and it kind of pisses me off but whatever  
>  TG: hes going to give me a tour of his usual haunts tomorrow  
>  TG: or i guess today  
>  TG: this moron still blows money at arcades apparently which wow big surprise  
>  TT: It sounds like it’s going to be a lot of fun.  
>  TG: yeah  
>  TT: Do you want to talk about what you said before you left for Washington?  
>  TG: nothing to talk about  
>  TG: and frankly i aint exactly in the mood for you to tell me what my problem is  
>  TG: i know what you want to say so ill save you some time and tell you upfront foul ball  
>  TT: You need to talk about it eventually, Dave.  
>  TT: As your friend, I’m worried that your avoidance of this particular topic is going to make things much harder for you long term.  
>  TT: I’m simply offering you the opportunity to air out your metaphorical dirty laundry and provide some insight.  
>  TG: yeah bs you just want to lord my problems over me while you play doctor  
>  TG: im still gonna ask her nothings changed  
>  TT: You’ve been saying that for a long time.  
>  TT: Perhaps you’re due to confront the source of your avoidant tendencies. That is all I’m suggesting.  
>  TG: whatever  
>  TG: im gonna get some shuteye  
>  TG: johnd probably flip if i started dozing off while hes trying to show me his pog collection or what the fuck  
>  TG: night lalonde  
>  TT: Very smooth, Dave. I’m positively reeling.

***

Your name is Dave Strider, you are 16 years old, and you are currently mid-shift at the Burger Barn drive-through. This is your first job, and you’ve had it for just over a month now. It might not be much beyond your standard burger-slinging to the gaping maw of the fast food hungry masses and the occasional grease fire, but it pays $11.75 an hour and that’s pretty fucking decent as far as you’re concerned. All the oil in the air makes your already chronic acne flair like there’s no tomorrow, but your manager is kind of a pushover and lets you get away with a lot of bullshit. Regardless of how much you fuck around, you’re still the best employee they’ve got. Though considering the bar is at actually washing your hands after using the little boy’s room, it’s not saying much.

Ever since you all decided to aim for the same college, you’ve actually started to take stuff kind of seriously and it’s such a fucking hassle. You’re working 35 hours a week on “part-time” pay, and doing most if not all of your schoolwork at your job as well. That is partly out of choice, as you’ve found it’s much easier most times to get stuff done away from your apartment, which is also part of why you haven’t called your manager out on giving you rank hours. Even if you didn’t have work to do, you’d probably find ways to avoid your place because it’s become kind of a shitshow back home. Bro’s impossible to deal with lately, and you’re frankly kind of over watching a grown man throw psychotic temper tantrums whenever he bothers to be around.

You’re waiting out the dead time between lunch and the dinner-rush by cranking out a slap-dash paper about some dead white dude with a hard-on for lighthouses and optometrists (or whatever, you sped-read the sparknotes like probably every other guy in your online class that isn’t a total chump) when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

> EB: dave, i’m going to fucking fail my dumbass algebra class!!!  
>  EB: i have to do this packet that counts toward 20% of my final grade, and it is due tomorrow and i kind of forgot about it because i am a total fucking knucklehead i guess!!  
>  EB: i’m trying to finish what i can now, but i’m always stupidly slow whenever i have to solve stuff a certain way, i know i won’t finish it in time.  
>  EB: if i fail math this semester i’m definitely not going to get into our college and i am sort of freaking the fuck out!  
>  TG: holy shit and the prize for how many times can john egbert basically fail a class while still going to school goes to the lucky man with the teeth out of a dentists sadistic wet dream  
>  TG: and don’t get all proud or whatever its a given that the how many times can john egbert basically fail a class while still going to school awards are rigged it’s in the fucking title  
>  TG: bro youre getting all up in a tizzy over nothing  
>  TG: theres a very simple and obvious solution to all of this  
>  EB: what?  
>  TG: cheat  
>  EB: dave! i’m being fucking serious!!  
>  TG: so am i  
>  TG: its not like its even a big deal man everyone does it all the time i doubt you deflowering your schoolastic honor is going to rock the fucking boat  
>  TG: school is designed to teach you how to bullshit as effectively as possible because thats a fucking life skill  
>  TG: being an adult is just figuring out the best way to cheat to survive man  
>  TG: just send that shit over to me dude i got nothing better to do  
>  EB: dude i can’t do that, my teacher would know.  
>  TG: you really think your teacher getting paid what $10 an hour gives a fuck  
>  TG: besides if youre a teacher kids getting good grades looks better anyways its a win win

There’s a pause in his response, and you can practically see him destroying his lip with those big ass chompers of his as his shoulder angel and demon go at it.

With a slightly exasperated sigh, you decide to give your demon homie a hand.

> TG: look whats more important to you here  
>  TG: a sense of honor for being real about how you learned jack shit about something i can guarantee you wont be revisiting later on in life no offense egbert but i dont see you becoming the get a load of these apples wiseguy mathematician of this generation  
>  TG: or a place at the school where all of your friends are going to be  
>  EB: well shit dave, i guess i just don’t want to be somewhere i’ll be super fucking behind every one else!  
>  EB: i told you guys i wasn’t sure i’d be able to swing this, but everyone got super attached to that ONE school so what the fuck was i supposed to do??  
>  TG: jesus fuck are you really this upset  
>  TG: this is such a non issue  
>  TG: like what do you think college is bc whatever youre thinking of thats got you this paranoid sure aint it  
>  TG: for real tho people bs classes all the time and they still manage to get through college  
>  TG: hell half the time the people who actually give a shit about school for some reason and put in the effort drop out like theres no right or wrong way  
>  TG: you not giving enough of a shit about the rest of us to sacrifice some measly nobility for your best friends would be the wrong way  
>  TG: come on john  
>  TG: its time to join the rest of us lowly scum

When you finally see the signature “...” of John cooking up some more weaksauce arguments against how obviously right you are, there’s a little beep in your headset notifying you that some sorry fuck just pulled up to order from the drive-through.

“What’s up,” You say through the intercom, hoping the guy will get the hint and make this shit snappy because you got shit more pertinent to attend to than how many arteries this man wants clogged.

“Uh... Hi?” Is what you’re met with, and there’s a full 3 seconds of agonizing silence before they tentatively follow up with, “should I... Should I tell you my order?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

As the guy processes, you glance down at your buzzing phone.

> EB: i don’t know...  
>  EB: i mean i GUESS, but it still feels like that kind of sucks?  
>  TG: if youre really that

“Could I have a large Barnyard M—“

“Yeah cool, hold on a sec.”

> worried about actually learning this stuff i can teach you its not even hard  
>  TG: so no biggie if i do it for you first if youre still learning it right problem solved  
>  TG: jesus christ im a fucking one stop shop here  
>  TG: miracle man dave strider

“Can I order now?”

“In a minute.”

> saves the day yet again  
>  TG: im so generous youre so fucking welcome  
>  TG: you can call me doctor streets because thats where i got the phd  
>  EB: in the street? so what, you like... found someone else’s doctorate and are claiming it as your own??  
>  TG: nah son the streets  
>  TG: school of hard knocks  
>  EB: i don’t know dave, you having a stolen phd isn’t doing wonders for my confidence in all of this...  
>  TG: look i know this is supposed to be you clowning on me so im gonna take that as a thank you dave youre a lifesaver dave whatever would i do without you dave  
>  TG: which youre right but you dont have to slobber all up on my dick about it so lets dial it back a fucking bit

“Look, I can go to the Taco Temple across the street if you guys aren’t ready yet.”

“Be my guest man, who am I to get between you and liquid shits. I’m paid by the hour, so I don’t really care where you go to drop your guts. Mad respect for anyone who’s figured out the cheap alternative to a colonic.”

“Where’s your manager?”

“My man Dennis?”

“What?”

> TG: hold up i gotta school this chump real quick

“Dennis? The D-man? The guy who I see every day and ask about his kids? My homie that lets me take home free icees and so graciously knows when to let me do my thing? Mr. wink wink enjoy your ten cent raise you earned it kid? You want me to get that guy.”

“... Are you serious?”

”I don’t know, you wanna find out?”

> EB: holy shit, are you at work again?  
>  TG: uh yeah thats how being employed works john  
>  TG: i gotta keep clocking in to make my bennies  
>  EB: how much work do you actually do when you are clocked in?  
>  EB: i can’t believe these bozos are still paying you.  
>  TG: ok oink oink you capitalist pig  
>  TG: maybe i should be asking you to cough up the cash seeing as im basically handing you your degree on a silver platter  
>  EB: harhar, barnyard boy.  
>  EB: do you have to wear a cowboy hat? all the pictures i saw had people wearing cowboy hats.  
>  TG: alright  
>  EB: maybe i should let you get back to hogtying yourself some cattle down at the barnyard, pardner!  
>  TG: john  
>  EB: lassoing them uh, podunk bessies?  
>  TG: good one  
>  EB: YEEEEHAWWW!  
>  EB: YIPPEE KI YAY! RIDE EM COWBOY!!  
>  EB: 🤠🤠  
>  TG: its like im there  
>  EB: that’s us, we are the cowboys.  
>  TG: cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> formatting this sucked. end authors note.


	3. a short one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one more little dave reflection

Months in the future (of 16 year old Dave,) but not many, you find yourself between a rock and a metal building comprised entirely of sledgehammers and the spikes cartoon villains love tossing into the bottom of pits like cheap cigars.

You had been dating Jade for a little over six months when you finally decided a few weeks ago to end things, and you are kind of at a fucking loss at what to do in the throes of this shitfuck aftermath.

It’s difficult to describe; where usually you are chock full of asinine and time wasting descriptors, you find yourself severely lacking in the what-the-shit-is-up-with-you-and-Harley department, and it’s really beginning to bum you out.

It started about as well as you expected it to; all sweaty hands and laughing too much, but as soon as you guys got past the first kiss and weren’t just pining with thousands of miles between you, it seemed to level itself out for a hot minute. You’d get on calls to watch movies together, and mess around on some shitty MMORPG Jade found that was free-to-play, and had some incredibly detailed furry-oriented character customization options. With buns of frightening density and disgustingly malformed balloon biceps, Akwete Purrmusk frollicked free amidst low polygon trees alongside his trusty companion Marie Furrie, and it wasn’t stupid even a little bit.

When you began officially having your “dates,” you’d schedule it for one particular night a week, which would tend to occupy the entirety of it, scattered with instances involving you setting up the screen-share to fuck with Jade as soon as she woke up from her impromptu naps. This was always met with a hellacious fit of The Giggles. You got pretty fucking good at it, and you’d be lying if you didn’t begin to look forward to hearing sleepy snickers through your headphones during particularly shit days.

One night a week started to become two, then they stopped being night-exclusive, and then there stopped being specific days. A little over two months in, you were coming home from work and as soon as Jade would see you were online, you’d get the invitation to a call. You didn’t think much of it because of course she wanted to get a big nasty heaping of Strider any chance she got, who the fuck wouldn’t?

Things got weird when you started to turn calls down. Maybe you had other shit to do, maybe you were tired, or maybe you just didn’t feel like it, but it was met with increasingly uncomfortable responses along the lines of oh sure okay!! Until mid-call one time Jade started getting teary-eyed and sent you into a full on panic because that is about one of the worst fucking things you’ve ever seen.

She kept trying to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal and she was totally fine until you pestered her hard enough about it. She kind of snapped and dropped this whole thing about you not actually liking her company and getting tired of her, and her feeling horrible for feeling that way in the first place, which completely fucking blindsided you. You figured it was pretty much a non issue outside of the to-be-expected “aw nuts, no Dave time for me,” so the feeling that you had been accidentally neglectful was like a punch to the face.

You never said no again after that, but you did pull dumb stunts like the massive tool you are.

The moments you super did not want to have fun quirky romantic shenanigans, you’d ghost pesterchum and leave your handle set to offline. You’d lie straight to her face sometimes, too. It wasn’t even hard. The hard part was sitting in it afterwards like a grade A chump, shoveling microwave yakisoba into your oily mug in front of a YouTube compilation of livestreamers beefing it while your brain kept intersplicing image stills of Jade bleary eyed and choking back gut-wrenching sounds as she carefully articulates that, “No, it’s nothing.”

God, you’re such a fucking dick.

Every time your relationship would come up in conversations with Rose or John, you’d go on these spiels about how great everything was and how you always knew you and Jade would be cool together and there wasn’t anything else to say on the matter. You guess Harley had been doing the same, because when the ball dropped that you’d split, and you were the one that did the deed, even Rose seemed a little surprised.

They’d both heard from Jade first, so John tore you a new one while Rose left a trademark Lalondian novella for you to skim through when you finally bothered to check pesterchum again. Maybe you wanted to have some more time to pop another bottle of champagne at your own pity party, because it took you a hot minute to cook up a reply for either of them. Even when you did, you acted like it wasn’t even that big of a deal. It probably goes without saying, but John went batshit.

It took about a week before you finally started to come around about how you were actually feeling about things and why you maybe did it. Rose must have talked to John, because eventually he came back and apologized about flipping out about something that wasn’t any of his business actually in the first place, to which you replied “yeah,” which you knew was probably pushing it for the dude just coming around, but sending it almost made you feel not so shitty.

John thinks you act like more of a dick than usual when you feel like you’ve done something wrong, and you feel like maybe that’s something you should have picked up on before the kid who can lip-synch the entirety of Contact did.

You still haven’t talked to Jade since everything, but you have a sense she doesn’t want you to, anyways.

It’s weird, because despite you knowing why you broke things off, you still feel pretty confused. Like maybe the reasons you think you had, aren’t actually reasons at all. Maybe you didn’t really try.

As you’ve gotten older, you think it’s been harder for you to tell what’s real or not about yourself, which sounds stupid as fuck because it is. You have a hard time navigating your motivations and intentions, and frequently the conclusions follow long after everything’s been said and done. A part of you thinks maybe this is the result of one too many slam dunks on the pavement made exclusively with your fucking skull. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

On top of everything, Bro decided to fuck off the rest of the month and leave you to wallow alone without his mind-numbing pedantric distractions during one of the very few, if not the only time you might actually find them kind of welcoming.

John wasn’t having it.

He insisted that it was his duty to pester the shit out of you and just invited himself over to spend his spring break and most if not all of the money from his piggy bank, stinking up the place with Essence D’Egbert.

You only ever talked about it like it was some kinda nuisance, but that’s because you knew John would get that meant you were as giddy as some kid poppin’ amphetamines like he’s got his grubby little mitts lodged elbow-deep in the candy jar.

He’s been fucking up your save game for Tony BAWK Pro Skater 8 for the past hour and a half now, and seems to religiously do the opposite of whatever you say.

“You keep trying to grind that rail, but I’m telling you it’s impossible unless you phase through from the other side.”

“Well how the fuck do you expect me to move at all in the game when this massive tool keeps flipping out like a useless piece of shit!”

“Only a poor carpenter blames his tools, John.”

“The game is almost unplayable, Dave. The GUI is ten commercials playing simultaneously over two slightly different colored bars, and a number which supposedly corresponds to how many Nazty Znacks you get, even though sometimes it just changes for no goddamn reason!”

“Amateur hour, man. Honestly, it’s fuckin’ embarrassing being your friend sometimes.”

He slams the action button like the desperate chump he is, and your man D-Shitzy spazzes the fuck out before careening off into the stratosphere.

There he goes.

 

 

 

... Yeah, he’s not coming back.

John throws the controller into a conveniently placed pile of plush puppet ass.

“Do you have any games that aren’t a huge waste of time?”

“Aren’t all games a huge waste of time?”

“You just don’t want to play a two player game because you know I’m going to be better than you..”

“Hmm,” your phone buzzes. “I mean not even like a little bit? But if that makes you feel... better.”

Your lips press into a tight line as you stare down at your phone, and out of your peripheral you catch John perking up in response.

“What’s up?”

You shake your head stiffly as if to dismiss the question, still not quite looking away from the screen.

“Nothing. Just Jade.” You respond coolly, and though you can’t exactly see the dudes face from this angle, something in the air tells you his eyes have blown comically wide.

His hand is suddenly on yours, and something lodges itself deep in your throat. His voice comes gently.

“... What’d she say?”

You shrug.

“Just ‘hi, hope you’re doing good’— nothing like, earth shatterin’.”

His hand sq

It squeezes yours, like it’s something delicate. He’s leaning in towards you, pretty obviously trying to gage your expression behind the shades. You lean back so he can’t.

“If you want to go and talk to her, dude, you totally can. Don’t let me get in the way or anything. I can keep playing this totally bogus game. I’ll actually probably get way better at it without you around to distract me with how much of a whopping horses ass you are.”

You glance over to catch the slightly crooked grin on his face, eyes soft behind woefully thick lenses.

“Nah,” You put the phone face-down on the armrest next to you, slickly switching it to silent as you do. “Still feels kind of weird, and I don’t want to fuck up our friendship irreparably trying to speed headways back into things.”

John’s mouth seems to compress not dissimilarly to how a muppets might, looking like some chump auditioning to be Kermit’s understudy. Any other person would read it as dishonest as shit, but nah, the dude just emotes so genuinely every other expression looks fake.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He seems to relent after what you feel is a second too long. His hand still has yet to release yours, despite his attention returning to the screen.

“You know I... I think sometimes Jade maybe doesn’t have the best... gauge for other people?”

It comes lethargically, like he’s struggling to put the thought alongside the words. You look fixedly at his face, if only to resist the urge to stare like some kind of creep at your hands.

“Like... oh man, I don’t really know how to put it. She’s not a bad person or any thing, I think she just kind of sucks when it comes to understanding everyone doesn’t have the same... social meter? As her?”

He finally turns back to you, as though the thought has finally started to flood in, or maybe he just realized staring at an increasingly incomprehensible pause menu wasn’t doing any wonders for his thought process.

“Like she is ready to go and be around people all of the time and hasn’t ever experienced feeling kind of worn out by that, so it’s hard for her to understand where other people might be coming from when they can’t meet her on the same level. And it’s not because she doesn’t want to understand, it’s just not something she thinks about. And maybe she even thinks people are being dismissive of her trying to help when they don’t always take her up on her company? Like... maybe part of it is her getting mad because she thinks that you aren’t even really trying.”

“Well yeah, I guess.”

“You didn’t fuck it up, dude.” He looks you dead on, shades be fucked. “I mean, yeah you kind of did, but it wasn’t just you. Relationships are about two people together, not just one alone, so I don’t think it’s right of you to keep thinking like you are the one who messed everything up like you are some super fuck-up master of the universe and Jade is your emotionally vulnerable Skeletor?”

“Kind of lost it on that one.”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean, right?”

You don’t respond, and John smacks you in the arm.

“What the fuck.”

“I’m serious! I’m not just trying to make you feel better, dude-- it fucking sucks seeing you and Jade getting so worked up about this. Jade’s super emotionally volatile, like she is really sad one second and then scary angry the next, and you’re acting all aloof and then metaphorically walking into the cellar of emotions and beating yourself on the head with the baseball bat of self loathing!”

“It’s probably in both of our best interests that you leave the long-winded shit to me.”

“Probably!”

He looks back at the screen, and you cave for a split second as your gaze drifts down to your hands, clamped sweatily atop the couch cushion. You’re reminded of squiddles, and something bitter spits up in the back of your throat. You withdraw your hand.

“I mean... Well yeah, I know you aren’t wrong, but I can’t just decide to feel less shitty about it.”

“I’m not telling you to. You just need to remember that you don’t have to keep feeling shitty, like... like, you are allowed to let it pass. This isn’t some permanent mark on your relationship-competence-record.”

“Seriously, stop trying to get creative about it.”

“I’m not! I just don’t know how else to put it.” He leans against the arm rest, hand pressing against his cheek so it smooshes his mouth into a pout. “I just don’t want you to internalize this, because I think you have a pretty gross habit of doing that. Like with the puppets and everything-- Cal, or whatever.”

“Cal ain’t no fuckin puppet, that’s for damn sure.”

“A ghoul?”

“Nah, too whimsical.”

“A twilight zone.”

“Yeah sure, Cal is probably a twilight zone.”

“... Is he here?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

You both sit in a moment of uneasy silence.

God, you really hope he took that fucking thing with him. You also hope he’s actually gone and not just messing with you.

Thank fuck you aren’t alone right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short because hey what do you expect i can't write for shit boys. just wanted to get this one out while i maybe start working on the rest


End file.
